An Unexpectedly White Christmas
by Boy On Strings
Summary: Jackson and Stiles stumble upon something odd. Sequel to 'A Gift for a Boy who has Everything'. Derek/Jackson/Stiles.
1. Not Every Crisis is Dangerous

**Author's Notes:**

**Warning: This story contains graphic male/male/male sexual content. Please be advised that if you aren't interested in that flavor of deliciousness that the story probably isn't for you. The next part of this will be available later tonight. It's unbeta'd, because I'm a terrible lazy person, hopefully it's still fun.**

**I haven't been around writing for awhile, or rather I haven't been posting what I have been writing. For everyone who's been following me, I greatly apologize for that, and I hope that what I have in store for you over the next week will go a little ways towards making up for that. Check my profile for more information.**

**This is part two of 'A Gift for a Boy who has Everything', one year after their first Christmas together.**

**I own no part of Teen Wolf, I make no money from this. It's just a bit of fun.**

* * *

Jackson took one careful step at a time down the staircase. He crouched with his head below the level of the banister. The soft carpet covering the stairs was slightly chilled, and he regretted not pulling on a pair of socks. He nearly jumped out of his skin when icy fingers traced up his sides and buried themselves in his armpits. He bit back a squeal of alarm, and cast his gaze accusingly at Stiles on the stairs behind him.

"Stiles, what the hell?" he whispered.

Stiles shrugged, but didn't pull his hands back. "My fingers are cold, unlike all the werewolf furnaces that live here I only have a thin layer of skin and a thinner layer of muscle keeping me warm."

Jackson shook his head. He couldn't even imagine how ridiculous they looked crouched on the stairs, both wearing just boxers. It probably would have been wise to put something else on to ward off the chill air of Derek's house. He opened his mouth to suggest they go back to get more clothing, but was cut off by a metallic crash and a string of particularly bitter curses.

Stiles mouthed 'what the hell?' and hunkered down further behind Jackson. He smelled of peppermint, and Derek's clothes. Jackson felt power well up in his eyes as the scent dug at his base instincts. He wanted to take Stiles back to bed, but no, Stiles was having none of that. He had to know what Derek was wrecking in the kitchen. They couldn't just hang out in bed waiting for Derek to come back from whatever midnight errand he was on.

Jackson shrugged, turned and continued making his way down the stairs. "Why are we doing this again?"

Stiles's fingernails scrapped lightly against Jackson's skin as he wiggled his fingers. "Because we need to find out what Derek is destroying. If it's one of our Christmas presents he better have a backup prepared."

"You'll be lucky if you get anything, it's not like you've been very good this year." The scent of raw eggs, sugar, milk, and flour wafted from the hallway that led around to the kitchen. Jackson was baffled. It would be pretty silly if Derek was trying to make breakfast. Christmas day was the only day of the year Stiles willingly woke up early for, but food before 1am was a bit silly.

"Derek likes it when I'm naughty. That means I get more presents." The sound of Stiles licking his lips sent a chill down Jackson's spine. "You like it too don't you, Jackson?"

There was no dignified way to respond to that question, especially when he was starting to get hard. Not like his boxers offered any modesty. "Shut up." Jackson turned to look back, knowing that Stiles would have a goofy smirk on his face.

He wasn't wrong, soft lips turned up at the edges, still moist from the tongue that had just flicked across them. Jackson took a deep breath, reveled for a moment in Stiles's scent. It was wound up tight with nervousness, excitement, and a rising edge of arousal. Jackson hooked his fingers into the waistband of Stiles's underwear, drew him forward until they were nose to nose. Stiles took a shaky breath, body trembling in the dark.

"Jack—"

Jackson placed a finger over Stiles's lips, leaned in and brushed his nose along a flushed cheek. He ran his other hand up over Stiles's neck. Their lips were so close, Jackson wanted to taste Stiles, but before he could another crash shattered the moment. Derek's temper was a legendary cock block. Some things never changed.

"Come on," Jackson muttered.

"But kisses? And stuff?" Stiles leaned forward, puffed out an indignant breath as Jackson's hand covered his face. "Harrmarggenm," he mumbled into the palm against his mouth.

Without bothering to respond to the nonsense Jackson turned away. He crept further down the hall, occasionally having to smack at Stiles's hands as they tried to curl into the back of his boxers. Jackson winced as too sensitive werewolf hearing picked up more metal clanging against metal. Was Derek preparing for a battle? Had a new enemy appeared in Beacon Hills? Fire churned in his gut, he clasped one of Stiles's hands.

A small roiling cloud of white poured out of the kitchen towards them. Jackson stepped in front of Stiles. The two ran the last few feet, Jackson let go of Stiles's hand, claws sprouted from his fingers, fangs extended. Derek was near the oven; he turned and let out a roar. Stiles shrank back against the wall. Jackson coughed as another cloud of white enveloped him. He held his breath, afraid that whatever chemicals were in the smoke would poison him.

He looked around for the threat, but there was no one there but the three of them. Stiles suddenly started laughing. Jackson turned and raised an eyebrow. Was it laughing gas? That seemed like an odd choice to assault an Alpha werewolf in his own home.

"He's trying to cook," Stiles wheezed out between fits of giggles.

Jackson turned to look back at Derek. He was covered in white powder, in flour. Jackson's mouth went slack, claws and fangs faded away. "Cooking?"

"Forget it," Derek growled. He hurled a mixing bowl into the far wall near the refrigerator. "I give up."

"Aw, honey, you shouldn't have." Stiles nudged a half shredded bag of flour with his foot. "If you were that desperate for a cake you could have just asked me.

Derek stared daggers at Stiles, who stepped behind Jackson. His body was shaking, and he had one knuckle in his mouth to stifle the laughter. Jackson shook his head. Derek was wearing grey athletic shorts, and an awfully thick layer of powder. His glowing red eyes made the whole thing so preposterous that Jackson couldn't even laugh.

"D-do you want a towel?" Stiles grabbed the one he'd used to dry the dishes after dinner. He extended it over Jackson's shoulder. "You know how these work right? It's not nearly as complicated as that crafty spatula you were using to try to—and I use the term lightly—bake."

Derek stalked across the kitchen, eyes locked on Stiles. Jackson tried to move out of the way, but Stiles grabbed his boxers. Derek darted forward. Great, that's just what Jackson needed, an upset Derek in his face, and Stiles's cold fingers in his underwear. He barely had time to let out a sigh before the impact. Another tiny cloud of flour and sugar exploded into the air as the three of them banged into the wall.

Derek's body was edging towards feverishly hot. Jackson leaned his head back, resting it on Stiles's shoulder, a tiny whine pulled out of his throat from having Derek so close to him. There were worse ways to spend Christmas than being pinned between the two of them.


	2. Contradictions

It was difficult to breath, trapped between two bodies and with flour drifting through the air. Jackson closed his eyes. Stiles's fingers traced up over his side, across his neck, and up into his hair. It was good, soothing and teasing at the same time. That was the normal reaction that Jackson had to Stiles. Derek was a contradiction too, but in a different way. Derek was a fire that burned cold. He was passion that couldn't be stopped. He could only be endured, held onto, and survived.

Stiles on the other hand was like a breath of precious oxygen while on the edge of drowning. Derek pushed him so hard that sometimes he didn't think he'd be able to recover. As if to remind him of the feeling Derek's teeth sank into the side of his neck. He wasn't holding back, delicate skin broke under the strength of Derek's jaws. Jackson let out another whine, but resisted the impulse to push Derek away from him. He tilted his head in the other direction, offered more of his neck in submission.

A cool hand rubbed circles on the small of his back. Stiles didn't really get this part of the relationship. Neither Jackson nor Derek had ever bitten him, Derek for obvious reasons and Jackson because he never wanted to hurt Stiles like that. They pushed the boundaries in other ways, a hundred other ways, at every opportunity. The three of them thrived on it. People on the outside didn't always understand. Stiles's dad, the other members of the pack, no one really got the three of them. It wasn't relevant though. All that mattered was that for the last year they had found a way to make it work.

There were times where Jackson still felt incredibly greedy, like he was a disease in the lives of people he loved. Sometimes it seemed like all he could do was take and take, he wasn't great at giving anything back.

"Don't do that, Jackson," Stiles whispered into his ear. "Don't get lost up there." He tapped the side of Jackson's head. "We're right here, and you should be here with us."

Derek grunted in agreement, released Jackson's neck from his mouth. "I hate to admit it, but sometimes Stiles is correct. Be here, in this moment with us."

Jackson reached up and intertwined his fingers with Stiles's, leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on Derek's lips. He spent too much time in the middle; he wanted someone else to have a turn. Derek resisted Jackson's attempt to turn them for a moment as if to prove a point. It always had to be on Derek's terms. That was something both Jackson and Stiles had learned to deal with. Control issues. It seemed like they all had issues. Maybe that's why they worked.

Stiles slipped sideways as Jackson pushed Derek up against the wall. The white dusting on Derek's skin cast him in a surreal light. Jackson traced a finger over one of Derek's pecs, then down his stomach. A small patch of skin cleared somewhat, almost returned to Derek's normal tone. Tomorrow there was going to be a hell of a mess to clean up in the kitchen, something he and Stiles would do together. For now, he didn't want to think about that, he wanted to think about the two people he loved.

Stiles slipped down onto his knees, hooked his fingers into the front of Derek's shorts. He looked up through long black eye lashes for permission, first to Jackson and then to Derek. This was one of those parts that always felt weird. Even after a year Stiles still seemed to think that he was intruding. To Jackson's knowledge Derek and Stiles had never done anything sexual without him being present. Derek reacted the same way as Stiles, looked to Jackson before interacting directly with Stiles even when all three of them were together. The weird part was that they both went after Jackson whenever they wanted, even if the other wasn't present. The rules they enforced on themselves seemed odd to Jackson. How could they have gone for almost a year and not found any common ground beyond how they felt about Jackson. Someday that would be the thing that drove them apart. Jealousy, the natural inclination of most people was to be territorial about who they were with. Being part of a threesome was complicated.

Jackson sank down to his knees next to Stiles, watched as Derek got hard under Stiles's skilled fingers. Complicated or not, there were benefits, major benefits. Stiles dug an elbow into Jackson's ribs, nodded toward Derek's dick. That was the type of invitation that no one in their right mind could turn down. The two of them leaned forward together, Stiles on the left and Jackson on the right. Derek got a grip on each of them, strong fingers in their hair. Stiles had let his grow out, Jackson kind of thought this type of situation was what prompted it. Stiles liked to be manhandled. Jackson wasn't going to complain, there were few things he liked more than tangling his fingers in Stiles's hair.

They had a sort of natural rhythm. Stiles always started at the base, while Jackson went right for the tip. Derek's scent was always strong, but especially in that moment of anticipation, right before everything got kicked up a notch. Tonight was no different, and Jackson let out a low moan as his lips wrapped around the head of Derek's cock. An appreciative grunt, a tightening of the fingers in his hair, and a small thrust forward, little things Jackson treasured.

Stiles's kissed down Derek's thigh, and then turned his head toward Jackson. He licked at Jackson's stomach as his fingers slipped into the front of Jackson's boxers. Derek twitched in Jackson's mouth, Jackson was pretty sure he loved this part more than anything else, watching Stiles pleasure Jackson.

Control frayed, and Jackson let it slip partially. His nails elongated, he ran them down Derek's thighs. Heat enveloped his cock, he desperately wanted to look down to see Stiles's lips wrapped around him, but he was too preoccupied with Derek's quickening pace, with the fingers tightening in his hair.

"Look up," Derek said. It was soft, but it was still a command.

Jackson got harder in Stiles's mouth, looked up through his blond lashes. Derek's eyes weren't glowing, but Jackson could feel the power welling up. Derek thrust harder, Stiles's nails dug into the small of Jackson's back. So good, he rocked forward into Stiles's mouth; the low moan in his throat echoed the noises Stiles was making around him. It wouldn't take long for him to lose it like this, full of Derek's taste and surrounded by Stiles's heat. He wanted more though, and his eyes lit up, mirrored that desperate desire.

"Derek," Stiles whispered. "I think Jackson wants to take this upstairs."

"Good, I want to see you fuck him." Derek said it so casually that Jackson almost didn't catch it at first. Jackson pulled off Derek's dick, opened his mouth to protest, but swallowed it as Derek ran a hand under his chin and tilted his head up more. "Come on. Stiles, you get him ready upstairs while I get cleaned off."

Jackson started breathing again when Derek let him go. He looked down, Stiles was still on all fours, mouth inches from Jackson's dick. He slowly sat back on his heels. His eyes were hooded, desperate desire leaked off his skin in waves. Jackson didn't even need to ask if Stiles wanted to do it, he was practically quivering.

"Let's go," Jackson whispered.


End file.
